She was first into her office, as always. She’d already answered her work emails at home. After checking the stationery supplies, thermostat and water level in the cooler, she settled at her desk and began to review all her current projects.

She’d worked for Gillian Webster Enterprises for nearly nine years. Almost a third of her life. After finishing her business degree at the University of Melbourne, she’d sent her CV to ten companies advertising for graduates. Gillian was the first to reply.

‘High distinctions in all subjects,’ she said. ‘You’re my type of person.’

During their meeting that same day – ‘I don’t mess around. How soon can you come in?’ – Gillian did more talking than Eliza. She described herself as ‘an entrepreneur, a can-do dynamic ideas person’. Gillian’s original business was a successful recruitment agency. She’d recently expanded into the conference industry.

‘What I need is a right-hand woman, someone to keep an eye on all aspects of the conferences. The delegates, the finances, casual staff, travel arrangements. Detail, detail, detail. Twenty-four seven.’

Eliza pictured lengthy to-do lists needing constant management. Long hours. Weekend work. Exactly what she was looking for. When she got a word in, she asked Gillian plenty of questions, taking notes. Gillian was impressed. Eliza’s part-time job as an art gallery attendant during her university years also met with her approval. Eliza’s godmother Olivia had helped her find that position, calling on one of her many contacts in the art world.

‘I’m an art lover myself,’ Gillian said. ‘I’ll get your advice on the most collectable artists.’

She remarked on the entry in Eliza’s CV regarding her volunteer work with the uni’s drama society. That had been her other godmother’s idea. Maxie had started her successful international acting career at uni in Sydney.

‘Never tempted to tread the boards yourself?’ Gillian asked.

‘No,’ Eliza said, feeling her cheeks redden even at the thought of it.

‘Good. What I want is a backroom person. I’m the face of the company and that’s how I like it. The job’s yours if you want it.’ She named a reasonable salary. ‘Give me your answer by nine tomorrow.’

Overnight, Eliza thought about it. There were three people she could ask for advice – her two godmothers and Rose, her best friend from university – but she needed to decide for herself. She said yes the next day. She was at her new desk the following Monday. In the nine years since, she’d regularly worked more than fifty hours a week and rarely taken holidays. When she did have time off, she was often called back in. She’d had only two small pay rises, both given begrudgingly.

Rose couldn’t understand why Eliza was still working there. ‘Your business card should say slave, not executive assistant.’

Maxie was equally puzzled. ‘But you’re artistic, not corporate, Eliza!’ she’d said once. ‘You should be surrounded by paints and canvases, not spreadsheets and contracts.’

Olivia was more astonished that Eliza could actually work with Gillian. ‘That woman would drive me nuts,’ she said after meeting her in the office during one of her visits to Melbourne. ‘I’ve never met anyone who talked about herself so much.’